Dry Heaves
by jink
Summary: Mrs. Hudson gets some.


**Title: ****DRY HEAVES**

**Summary:** Sherlock discovers the undiscoverable

**Word Count: **760

**Genres:** Character Piece.

**Characters:** Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, John

**Rating:** PG

**Status: **Complete.

**Warnings: **Mrs. Hudson gets some.

**A/N:** Written with the assistance of Mink (.com). So glad she's on this train.

A full day prodding at Bart's (and gripping and slicing and humiliating), and he was as close to exuberant as a man like him could be. Exiting the cab to a full torrential downpour, he splashed carelessly through the puddles and opened the front door, grateful to be home.

Almost.

He paused on the steps when he heard something very out of place.

By this late hour all the televisions in the surrounding flats were off. The next doors usually had muzzled their dogs. Or children. Sherlock was never quite sure which was which. Stepping slowly backwards into the foyer, he turned his gaze to the only floor level flat, occupied by only one woman.

He stilled when he heard the noise again.

It was muffled by the door, frantic and pleading.

_Mrs. Hudson…!_

A locked door had never stopped him. One shoulder, a heave, and the old lock shattered the ancient doorframe cracking into splinters along with it.

He couldn't see a bloody thing, the usually brightly lit parlour was dimmed by a few candles and the muted grainy screen of the late night news cast that flickered with the lightening of the storm.

But what he could see was some hulking shadow on the always neatly pillowed sofa, and a troubling but familiar figure underneath it holding out a fragile hand, her voice, very shrill and surprised.

"Sherlock!"

He acted before he could form a thought, his hands on the brutes shoulders, flinging the heavy body half way across the room with the satisfying sound of a pained grunt when contact was made with the fireplace. His gloved hand found the fire poker, hefting it in his grip, circling the fallen intruder when suddenly-

The lamp clicked on.

"My word! Sherlock what are you doing home so early?"

He blinked at Mrs. Hudson, whom was frantically buttoning up her blouse and extracting herself from the sofa. Sherlock stared down at the startled face on the terrified post man that he saw come and go every day down Baker street. Every now and then the man made an energetic effort to bring in the paper so it wouldn't get wet. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson overly insisted he have some tea.

A cold deep and hideous settled in the pit of Sherlock's stomach.

"Oh." Sherlock slowly lowered the fire poker. "O-Oh…"

"Good gracious!" Mrs. Hudson sucked in a breath. ""What have you gone and done with my door?"

Sherlock held up his hand, stumbling backwards towards the stairs. He continued and fell on his back on the first step. To his horror Mrs. Hudson had followed him, clutching her open blouse at her throat. One shoulder was still off, showing the thick white strap of her brassiere. It was difficult to quickly right himself only to land on his knees in a panic, his breath coming in short gasps. He clasped a hand over his mouth when he felt a dry heave coming on.

"Best to always knock love!" She called out as he hauled himself up on the railing and bounded up the stairs, climbing three at a time. "Sherlock?"

He actively tried to sleep. It felt better to put a washcloth over his eyes and count backwards from infinity. In the mean time Sherlock tried intermittently checking the digital clock until a horrible soft knock came at his door.

"Go away."

The door opened anyway.

"My god, Sherlock what on earth's the matter? Are you feverish?"

"Go AWAY, John."

John shifted uncertainly holding the door open just a few inches. "What's happened?"

"John," Sherlock drew a deep breath, his voice raw and hoarse. "There are some things one cannot unsee."

John sighed shortly. "Why don't you just delete it, then?" he asked. "Whatever it is..."

Sherlock began to fight his way out of his tangled bed sheets very ready to explain it all, however, the disturbingly loud buzzer at the front door suddenly went off. He closed his mouth and slid his fingers over John's very open mouth to quiet him as he walked towards the stairs.

The man at the door was a man Sherlock had seen many times.

Just like that post man.

Only this one brought the milk.

"Hello!" the man with milk said with suspiciously bright eyes. "Is Mrs. Hudson in?"

"No."

The happy go lucky milk man frowned at him.

"Well, she usually likes her Vit D on Mondays and—"

"No longer necessary, thanks."

"Wait-Just who the hell are you?"

Sherlock's pale eyes narrowed.

"I'm saying you are hereby relieved of services, sir."

"So no milk anymore?

"Never more."

**_SLAM_**


End file.
